


By The Water

by bela013



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2012-10-17
Packaged: 2017-11-16 12:11:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bela013/pseuds/bela013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not only the Seven burned at the beach of Dragonstone</p>
            </blockquote>





	By The Water

The sand scratched his lower back, where his his skin was exposed, making my fingers dig into the softness of her waist. The yelp that escaped her red lips was alien if compared to the wild grunts she was proffering not long before.

White and long, sharp and feral, her teeth sunk into her lower lip, not drawing blood, but twisting her face from her usual visage of grown woman, making her look younger, lost in her marital bead with her maiden head still intact.

She sure knew how to make feel guilty in mid pleasure, for I almost pulled back from her, except that in the end, my desired for the hotness that existed inside of her was too great.

Bulking up my hips, penetrating her with more force than I would have with a truly maiden, I am awarded with a soft gasp, waving away my fear that I would hear her screams of pain and have her repudiate me in anger.

Melisandre leaned towards his chest, leaving the position she usually took when they had this kind of encounters. The waves crashed not too far away form them, and its noise nearly muffed the mumbling of his witch, that seamed to be humming in her foreign language next to his ear, leaving him to turn his attention to the warmth that was inside her.

Digging my fingers into her waist once more, I pull her body closer yet and taking her from the position above me. That heart shaped face was as red as her hair, and she showed no care for all the sand that tangled in those red curls of hers. She looked as beautiful as ever.

I use my hands to hold her wrists above her head, and again, the sand scratches my skin, but the sensation was drowned by her, by the tenderness in the shape of her legs around my waist and the soft motion that she caused by pulling me towards her.

'Stannis' my name is that voice, thick with accent and lust, sends shivers up and down my spine, enticing him to move on my own, to trust into her, always deeper into the pool of warm pleasure that was between her legs.

Looking down, noticing her long neck, the shadow beneath her chin, the outlines of the collar of her dress, and her ample breasts. It all made quite easy to understand the fight that she put up to be on top of him, only to sit on him and use him like a throne. There was a powerful feeling in holding down that wild woman. But power was what the king wanted from his red priestess, because me as Stannis, wanted only her.

With a sharp pull at her wrists, he had an arm full of Melisandre, nose to nose with me, sitting on my lap. Eyes wide with surprise, probably not used to a partner that was willing to share the pleasure and post at the top with her. She opened her mouth, if to protest or to compliment, I don't know, my tongue was already inside her mouth, before I could think of resisting such temptation.

Through the cloth of her dress and his shirt, he could still feel her nipples poking at him, practically asking me to touch them, and so I did. Her hands were around my neck for support as my own were under her clothes, the feel of her skin on my calloused hands must have been pleasant, for her rhythm went up a notch, faster but not steadier. If she kept this up, I wouldn't be able to hold on for much longer. I felt the difference when my fingers traced her areola, of the way her moan were pitcher and of how her wall closed around him.

It was too much for me. I pressed her nipples tightly as her mouth left mine, only to use it to sink her teeth into my neck. Her feet dug into my lower back, scratching me all over again, with the sand that coated them, but all I could feel was her, closer and closer, crushing me. And with a few more trusts, my desired melted away, and I gave up my seed to her like a spoil of war.

Her red hair was like an water fall at his shoulders, as if blood dripped from her head and down him arms and back, and again, she hummed her song, in blissful serenity that usually overcame her after coitus. Sweat broke from my every pore and I could feel the world again, she was there, but no longer muffing the sound of the sea or the smell of the salt in the water. Her red waterfall could no longer drown out the sea that surrounded Dragonstone, for now.


End file.
